The Smirk
by Sagebush
Summary: He knew, if he turned around right now, she would be smirking. That horrid, completely ridiculous, twist of her lips-  Set in Season Three


**AN: Yes, I know you all hate me right now. I promise, that I will post up some of Set In Motion and/or Taken By The Storm.**

**There.**

**Also, I was so pleased by the reviews to Writing On The Wall – it even got reviewed by the great Kitty O (of awesomeness!). My jaw hit the floor I was so pleased.**

**Anyway, this was a little something I wrote while I watched the rugby – oh yeah, WALES WON! - and it just got sillier and sillier. You'll see.**

**Also, give just a moments silent right now for those in Japan. I was so upset when I heard about it. I could just imagine it in my head, and – ugh.**

**Please read and review – I love to know what you think!**

**[Edit: just realised I posted it up weirdly - changed it now. Sorry!]  
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He knew, if he turned around right now, she would be smirking.

It was always the same. Every time anyone turned their back, she would smirk. That horrid, completely ridiculous, twist of her lips, just emphasising the heavier and darker make-up she had started to wear recently. Why? Why did she do it?

No longer did she smile, frown, or display any emotion - apart from when she was acting. Her face alternated between a neutral expression, a glare, and the smirk.

What, about being evil, meant you had to smirk? It was stupid, and why on Albion had no-one else noticed it?

They were in Arthur's chambers. He, facing the window. Her, standing by the mantle piece, no doubt _smirking_. He was so certain, he would even bet Arthur's life on it.

Deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He turned around. She didn't even attempt to hide it from him anymore, and it was just so _infuriating._

"Why?" he asked. "Why do you do it?"

The smirk faded slightly. "How many times do I have to tell you?" was her reply. "You wouldn't understand. You don't have magic, you don't know what it's like-"

"That's not what I'm asking!" Merlin snapped. "The smirking, Morgana, _why?_"

The woman seemed completely taken back for a moment. "The smirking?" she repeated, slowly. "You ruined my speech, for smirking?"

Merlin stared at her. "Yes," he said in a low, slightly menacing tone. "Why? Whenever you look at me, every time Uther, Arthur, or Gwen turn their backs, you smirk. What is the point? How does it help you, or anyone else?"

"Smirking," Morgana said haughtily. "Is a fine art. You need to practice over a long period of time before you can come anywhere _near_ perfecting it. It is the ultimate sign of evilness, and is compulsory for evil meetings."

Merlin laughed, slightly manically. "You have evil meetings? Smirking is compulsory? Isn't that like, a rule? Doesn't that defeat the whole point of being evil?"

Morgana bristled. "You don't understand."

"No, Morgana, I don't. Because I'm not evil, and I don't smirk in my sleep."

"I do _not_ smirk in my sleep!"

"How do you know? Do you watch yourself while you sleep?"

There was a brief silence. "No. But I could!"

"That's not the point!" Merlin yelled. "Just because you have rules which say you have to smirk at evil meetings (which, might I say again, defeats the point of being evil) doesn't mean you need to smirk at every, little, small, thing!"

"But I need to practice! The Nimueh Cup tournament is next month!"

Merlin stared at her in disbelief. "The Nimueh Cup tournament? The Nimueh Cup tournament?" he asked slightly hysterically.

"Yes. I plan to win it. Or come second - but only to Morgouse!"

"You have tournaments on smirking? Are you _insane?_"

The evil witch rubbed her cheeks thoughtfully. "I have asked myself that question numerous times. Every time I chew, or eat, or talk, I am in pain. I never realised how much it hurt to smirk until I got back to Camelot."

"For Albions sake, Morgana, all I'm asking is that you _stop smirking_."

Merlin turned around again to face the window. Surely Arthur would come back soon. Then they could stop this ridiculous conversation. In fact, he couldn't even remember why the kings ward was here in the first place - well, the reason she gave anyway. Everyone (or perhaps only him) knew that visits to Arthur were just excuses for attempts at his life.

It was at this moment, of course, that the crown prince himself decided to walk in. He opened the doors to his chambers with a loud bang, probably hoping to give Merlin a fright.

"Merlin, what are you yelling at? I heard something about smirking," he said in that obnoxious voice. The servant gave a small choking sound at the last word, but Arthur was quickly distracted.

"Morgana!" he said warmly. "What are you doing here?"

Immediately, the witch adopted an upset expression as she rushed forwards, arms outstretched for an embrace. "Oh, Arthur," she sobbed. "I was at the market with Gwen, and a woman passed me, and she looked so much like- so much like_ her_ and it reminded me of the last year, and it was so terrible!" here, she broke out into uncontrollable sobs.

And so it was back to the beginning again. He, facing the window. Her, standing by the mantle piece. He knew, if turned round right now, she would be smirking. The Nimueh Cup tournament - pah.

Deep breaths, he told himself, deep breaths.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He turned around. She wasn't even attempting to hide it, as she stared at him.

"I," Merlin said, flabbergasted.

"I give up!" he yelled to the sky, and stormed out of the room.


End file.
